The Hunger Games Epilogue
by PEETA-POWER16
Summary: An extended ending of the final book, Mockingjay, of the Hunger Games Trilogy. Told from Katniss' and Peeta's daughter's point of view.


_**The Hunger Games Epilogue:**_

Part One:

The clanging of baking pans and the closing of the oven door are the sounds I wake up to on that sunny Saturday morning. I can see the sun shining through my window as I pull back the curtains. The smell of freshly baked bread fills my nose, and I run down the stairs and right into my father's arms.

"Good morning, Rue," says my father.

"Morning, Dad. Where's Mom?" I ask.

"Right here," my mother says as she enters the kitchen.

Now it's no mistake I've got my father's crystal blue eyes, but my flowing, thick hair is definitely from my mother, although the color is somewhere between my father's sunny blonde to my mother's coal black. She's not too tall, with long braided black hair, and a kind of grey eyes you can only find around here. My brother has those eyes. It's almost as if inside each iris, there are storm clouds rolling in. She runs her fingers through my hair, and I grab a piece of bread to butter. Sunlight floods the room, and glints off my father's blonde hair, making his eyes look like they are filled with tiny diamonds.

"Where's Finn?" my mother says searching the room, anxiously grabbing my father's strong arm.

"Katniss," my father says, using the reassuring tone he takes on when my mother gets upset, "It's okay, Katniss. He just went out with a couple of the other boys to the Meadow. He's fine, don't worry."

I watch intently as the color re-enters my mother's face, and she relaxes. "Okay, but you really have to tell me every time he runs off!"

My father slips his hand into hers and she takes a deep breath. He almost never lets go of her hand. I know why she gets like this. I don't know if Finn knows, but I do. The glances I get in school, the history books in class, and the nightmares that never seem to give my mother a solid night's sleep, all lead me to believe that my parents were once victors of the Hunger Games. We rarely talk of it at home, but every so often one of my parents will ask if I have any questions about it, or if there's anything I think I should know. Of course I've always been curious, but if my parents think that there's something I don't need to know, I don't want to argue. I have always felt that way, until now.

At that moment, my ten-year old brother, Finn, walks through the front door, and plops down next to me at the table. We eat bread, surrounded by sunlight. _This is why Saturdays are the best day of the week._ I think.

After breakfast, I put on my sandals, and run out into the garden. It's almost summer, and the world has finally come back to life after a long winter. I hum a tune, and then listen as the mocking jays pick up my little song. That's another thing about my family. My mother, Katniss Everdeen, was the face of the rebellion against the Capitol almost thirty years ago, and the mocking jay was the symbol of the rebels. It's not just a mimicking bird anymore, not to anyone, especially us. I walk down the path that leads to Haymitch's house. Haymitch is sixty seven years old and usually drunk, but he's family. He used to be a Hunger Games victor as well, and he mentored both my parents before their games. That much I know, but my knowledge pretty much stops there.

As I enter the house, my eyes react to the dim light. I step inside and open the drapes, letting in some sunlight. I've been in here so many times, that I don't even wrinkle my nose as the scent of liquor. At least he keeps it cleaner lately. I find Haymitch asleep on the couch. It's almost noon, so I think it is okay to wake him up. I shake him gently, and then a little harder. Haymitch jumps up yelling, and waving his arms, swiping an imaginary knife in the air. I'm glad he stopped sleeping with a real one.

"Oh, it's you. I swear you're just like your mother sometimes, except I'd take your forms of waking me over your mother's any day."

I chuckle as I remember the story of my mother pouring ice cold water on Haymitch to wake him. "I came to bring some bread. Daddy made it this morning." I almost always bring bread on Saturdays, so this isn't news.

"Oh yes. Daddy! How wonderful it is! The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve live happily ever after with their two lovely children, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Haymitch's patronizing tone doesn't bother me. The thing that makes me curious is what he's saying. I can see a flicker of doubt crossing Haymitch's face as he realizes he's said too much. "Oh Rue, it's nothing. In your parent's first Hunger Games, it was the first time two tributes had ever been in love. 'The star crossed lovers from District Twelve.' That was just their nickname. Well, it worked out in the end didn't it?"

"Sure," I say as I put the bread in Haymitch's refrigerator, which smells of rotting food. "Jeez, Haymitch, what have you got in there?"

He shrugs. I sigh, and empty out the contents of his fridge, and scrub the counter clean for him. I know he'd never do it himself, and it doesn't hurt to be nice, right?

"Well, you certainly got the best of both halves, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You've got your mother's fire, and your father's kindness. You're just the perfect child aren't you, sweetheart?" Haymitch has a good laugh.

I frown. _Perfect? Not really._ But what he says about having the best of both sides seems true, I suppose. Besides my best friend, Jonah, hardly anybody knows me better than Haymitch. Whenever I make this face, of course he knows I'm thinking.

"What's on your mind?" asks Haymitch in a more serious tone.

"No. I mean, I don't really know. I've just been more and more curious about my parents' lives. There's so much I don't know! It doesn't seem fair. Although usually I'd just accept it, I guess things are changing," I pause to collect my thoughts, "No,_ I'm_ changing. And I want to know the truth." I say quietly. Then Haymitch does something unexpected. He opens his arms to me, and I don't hesitate. Hugs are rare where Haymitch is concerned.

Haymitch sighs. "Well, we all knew this day was coming," he says.

"What day?" I ask.

"The day you grow up."

It's probably just the light, but I swear I see tears in his eyes.

"This is a conversation you need to have with your parents. See what you can do, but I don't know how well it's going to go over with your mother. She worries a ton about you and Finn. She does her best to shield you from every horror she can. It's her goal to keep you safe, and stop you from living the way she did."

"I know," I say quietly, "It's because of the Hunger Games, isn't it?"

Haymitch nods. "And the revolution. She swore she would never have children, but Peeta convinced her."

"How did my father do that?" I want to know because if you looked up stubborn in the dictionary, my mother's name would surely be there.

"Let's just day Peeta sure has a way with words, he always has. It's what made him so desirable to the audience in the Capitol." Haymitch makes a face that is a cross between a frown and a grimace.

I must be growing up, because I have no idea what he's talking about, and I want to. I will find out what happened to my parents, make no mistake about that.

…

Paints, pencils, paper, drawings: these are the things that litter the floor of my room as I walk in later that afternoon. I lean down and grab my sketch book, opening to a clean page. As I draw, I think about what drawing really means to me. It isn't just art anymore, it's how I express myself, my thoughts, and my feelings. So when I look down at the page and see that I drew my mother's old mocking jay pin that she wore in the Hunger Games, I'm not surprised. I've just made up my mind for good, that I'm going to ask my parents about the truth tonight, when the doorbell rings.

"Rue! Come downstairs! They're here!" my mother calls.

I sigh as I close my sketch book, and make my way downstairs. That's right! The Hawthornes are coming tonight. I guess the truth will have to wait…as always.

"Hi Jonah!" I greet my best friend.

"Rue! I didn't see you in town today. I thought you might come by," says Jonah.

"Oh, sorry. I've been…"

"…drawing all day," he finishes my sentence.

"You know me too well," I smirk.

"It's fine. You'll have to show me what you accomplished later. After dinner we have to go into town! Wait until you see how the reconstruction's coming along."

Ever since the end of the rebellion, District Twelve has been in reconstruction. During the war, the majority of Twelve was burned to the ground by firebombs. Now, the smell of wood or fresh paint on newly constructed buildings is common in town. Now that the war is over, our district isn't the poorest of all anymore; the president is trying her best to make the country pretty equal, and allow the citizens the freedom to choose where to live.

Jonah and his family move around a lot. He was originally raised in District Two, but then moved to Four, and now they've settled down for a while back in District Twelve, where Jonah's father, Gale, was raised. I know that my mother and Gale were best friends growing up, and even more than friends for a while. Now we are all close family friends; I just call him Uncle Gale because I don't have any real aunts and uncles. I think both of my parents' families died in the war, except for my mother's mother. After our brief conversation, I turn to Jonah's parents, and greet them warmly.

"Uncle Gale! Aunt Carolyn! Missed you," I smile.

"We missed you too! And look how you've grown." Carolyn embraces me.

"Maybe you'll catch up to your mother soon!" Gale laughs as he picks me up with just one arm and swings me around the way he used to when I was little, when he just moved back to District Twelve.

"I don't think so," my mother jokes, although not even she can deny I'm almost as tall as her.

Later, we sit down to dinner. While the adults discuss the news of the presidential election coming up, I lock eyes with Jonah. He raises his eyebrows, clearly asking, "What's wrong?" I respond by using our hand signal that means, "I've got something to tell you later." He nods, and we rejoin the conversation. While they talk, I can't help but examine Jonah and his family. He's tall like his father, and he's got those grey eyes like him too. They are the same eyes my mother has; Gale and my mother grew up as neighbors. He may very well be my uncle considering how much they look alike. Jonah has his mother's pale skin, but his hair is dark just like Gale's. Jonah is fifteen, a year older than me, so we don't see each other a lot in school. Outside of school, we are always together: in the woods, in town, at the market…wherever. That's just the way it is.

After we've finished eating, Jonah and I manage to escape the house for a while. We walk into town alone. That's good because I sure have a lot to tell him. Not wanting to waste time, I get right to the point.

"For once in my life, Jonah, I want to know the truth."

He raises his eye brows, waiting for further explanation. Obviously, he deserves some explaining, but I'm not really sure where to start. I sigh, and then begin to tell him. I talk about how I've been feeling lately, how I think I'm old enough to understand, and how I don't think I should be protected from the truth anymore. I really do want to know what happened to my parents in the Hunger Games and in the Revolution. Don't I deserve that?

Jonah just listens, (he is a great listener really) with the occasional nod of his head or shrug of his shoulders. When I've finally finished, I look up at him for approval. I look straight into those mystical grey eyes, searching for some kind of agreement, understanding even. But that's not what I see.

"You're worried about me…why?"

Jonah takes a long time before answering. Then he clears his throat, "One time last year…I found an old tape of a Hunger Games in my attic at home. You parents weren't in it; it must have been before they were chosen. I was home alone for the day, and I was so curious, so I watched it. I know I shouldn't have. I even wish I didn't, but I felt like I had to after everything we've heard about the games. All I can say is…none of those rumors can compare really, to the horror."

"What happened?" I ask when he pauses.

"The tributes were in some kind of meadow full of brightly colored plants and huge butterflies. It was beautiful, except everything in it was poisonous. The tributes started dying immediately. There was a huge fight for supplies in the beginning. A lot of them died then. After that fight was over, the tributes broke off into groups and formed alliances. One group had tributes from Districts 1,2, and 4 mostly, while other groups had survivors from other districts, like 11 and 12. Slowly…they all began to die, one way or another. They were killed by poisonous things, animals, but the worst of all was when they all gradually began to turn on one another. Children killed other children! Silent deaths in the dark of the night, screams than rang out from far away. A huge volcano erupted taking out a huge remainder of the remaining tributes. Finally there was only two left, a boy and a girl. It was terrible to watch, yet impossible to turn away from. Things had gotten pretty gruesome, and it had become more of a battle to see who could stay alive longer. Eventually, the boy used the force field on the edge of a cliff to outsmart the girl. He won."

Things get very quiet as I process the information. "Who was the victor?"

"Rue…" He hesitates.

"What? Jonah, who was it?"

"The name of the victor was Haymitch Abernathy." Jonah says quietly.

I draw in a sharp breath. That's it then. That's how Haymitch won the Hunger Games. I don't know what to say, how to respond, or even what to think about this knowledge I have just acquired.

"That's it…"

"What?" asks Jonah.

"Now I _have_ to know…I have to see what happened to my family. I deserve that right! Don't I?" Jonah does not answer me right away. "Don't I?"

"Of course you do! Of course." Jonah puts a protective arm around my shoulder to keep me from becoming hysterical or bursting into tears.

"When are you going to talk to them about this?" asks Jonah.

"Soon, probably tomorrow. It has to be done." I respond.

"Call me when it's over…promise?"

"Promise," I whisper. 

The walk home is unusually quiet, both of us shaken up from the conversation. It begins to rain halfway home, and I stop walking. Jonah realizes something is wrong a split second after I do; he knows me that well.

"It'll be okay, I promise. I really think you're making the right decision," Jonah stops to face me.

"You do? You don't think I'm being foolish?"

"No," Jonah stops and stares into my eyes so intensely, and for a moment he looks so tall and strong while I feel so weak that I might collapse in his arms, but I don't. Instead, I let him brush the hair off my face, and then hesitate before lightly kissing my forehead. Then I realize Jonah has done the impossible; he has gotten me to smile.

Before I can say anything, the rain begins to pour down too hard, and we run the rest of the way home. Still, I didn't forget that moment…where I began to look at my good friend Jonah in a very different way.

…

The next morning, sunlight pours through my window, alerting my senses and leaving me feeling like a flower awakened by the warmth of the sun. After the day I had yesterday, I could do any number of things, but I even surprise myself when I get up, and smile at the sun streaming through my window. I am happy, in a sort of pleasant way that makes me feel confident. I think it has something to do with Jonah.

I run downstairs, grab a bagel off the table, take a drink of some orange juice (it's my mother's favorite so we always have some in the house), and make a dash for the door.

"Where do you think your going," my mother catches me by the arm, an amused look on her face.

"Umm…"

"Where on earth do you have to go so quickly?" my dad joins in.

"I'm just going into town," I pause, "Jonah wanted me to meet him at ten and I'm already late."

"Oh! Now I get it. Yeah, yeah go ahead. But be careful, please," all of a sudden my mom understands my situation perfectly, smirking at me in a mocking tone.

"What's that supposed to mean? How come you understand everything just because I said 'Jonah'...?" I ask, slightly agitated.

"We were teenagers once too," my dad reminds me.

"We know what it's like to be young and…"

"…in love," my dad finishes my mom's sentence.

I don't think twice before running out the front door, my face some shade of red. Jonah and I are not in love! I'm fourteen! I don't know what love is! How can my own parents think that? I'm angry, embarrassed, and shy when I meet Jonah in front of his house fifteen minutes later. The whole walk there I had been thinking about the conversation, and I guess I should have seen it coming anyway.

"Hey," says Jonah.

"Hi."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine. My parents are just….bothering me. It's not a big deal."

"As long as you're okay," Jonah smiles.

"Yes. I'm fine. But I want to talk about what to say…tonight."

"You're telling them tonight?" Jonah asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I've decided. But I don't know how to put it," I explain.

"Just tell them you feel like you're now old enough to understand and you feel like you deserve to know the truth. Tell them you care about your own parents' past. Trust me. I know your parents, and I know they'll understand."

"How come _you_ always know what to say?" I smirk.

Jonah laughs. "I don't. I just know you. That's all."

I don't argue with that, it's the truth.

…

_This is it. This is the moment where I will finally get what I've always needed, the truth. _I think to myself as I try to find the courage to confront my parents later that day. The clanking of forks at dinner makes me nervous. I don't even know why.

"This is good soup, Mom," says Finn, his blonde curls a mess as usual. He sure likes to eat.

"Thanks," my mother laughs, "It was my favorite back in the day."

"Lamb stew with dried plums," both of my parents say simultaneously, smiling as they share a secret moment.

They share a look that tells me this old recipe from 'way back in the day' has something to do with the Hunger Games.

"What?" I ask, hoping to get some information out of them.

"Nothing dear…it was my favorite dish when I was sixteen, and I just met your father."

"Right," I say, "When you were sixteen in the Hunger Games, forced to kill other children in an arena."

…

There is a kind of dead silence that fills the room that I have never heard before, or rather _not _heard. For some reason, this lack of sound rings louder to me than anything loud noise you can find.

"Rue, is there something you want to talk to us about _after dinner_?" my father asks in a tone that says _"Leave Finn out of this!"_

"Yes," I say, my hands shaking.

"Okay sweetheart," my mom gives me a weak smile, suggesting my comment hurt her.

There is another pause before my brother just _has_ to blurt out, "You killed people? No way!"

"Finn. Not now," My father jumps in.

"Sorry," Finn sighs as my mom makes him eat more vegetables.

After dinner, my parents pull me aside in the living room while Finn is busy occupying himself in front of the television upstairs. _Now I will know the truth, _I think.

"First, I'm sorry for what I said at dinner. I didn't mean to upset you."

My mom gives me a hug and says, "It's okay, but we need to set this straight."

I nod and explain that I feel like I'm old enough to know the truth. And then I ask something I didn't plan on asking, "Do you have a video? Of the Hunger Games?"

My parents glance at each other. "That may be the best way to show her," my dad tells my mother. She nods, and goes upstairs to retrieve the tape. "This is hard for us, but you deserve to know. We were going to tell you soon anyway. We trust you and love you, so that it why it is very hard to show you something like this." My dad lays a hand on my shoulder.

The arena is fill of woods, scarce water, and don't forget, killers. My parents are so young and so in danger I want to help them as I watch from this tape that is almost thirty years old. At first, my parents are separate, working not as allies, but apart. My mom teams up with no one at first, until she makes a small twelve year old girl with dark skin, hair, and rather small in stature her ally. I almost faint. The young girl's name…is Rue.

…

"Oh my god…" I catch my breath, whispering to myself at the end of the tape. I watched the girl I was named after die in my mother's arms, my parents team up, and have my mother and my father almost commit suicide to defy the sadistic capitol in the hope of preserving their lives. As the tape "clicks" off, I sit in silence, staring at the blank screen a moment longer. My parents were the victors, they were the last two standing, and even killed to stay alive.

"That was the seventy fourth Hunger Games," my mother explains, "As a milestone in Hunger Games history, the seventy fifth hunger games recruited several previous victors to go back into the arena. Your father and I were forced to participate in yet another Hunger Games, except this time things were different. We had allies, and they had a plan."

"There was Johanna Mason and Beetee and…Finnick Odair," my father says the last name very quietly.

_Finnick…Finnick….Finn! _I think. "Is that who Finn is named after?" I ask in awe.

"Yes, Finnick saved our lives more times than I can count, and even died for us. All of our allies in the arena in our second Hunger Games were in on a secret plan to overthrow the government in the capitol," my father explains.

"In the arena, I was injured, but I knew what to do. I carried out my allies' plans. I blew out the force field around the arena, and started the rebellion that led to the revolution. During the war I was considered the symbol of the rebellion. The leader, I suppose. I was the Mocking Jay behind it all," my mother added.

"And I was taken to the capitol, captured out of the arena and tortured. By the time I was rescued from the capitol, I was very ill. But overtime, I healed and aided in the winning of the war itself alongside your mother, Finnick, and many others," my dad continues.

"Dad, you were tortured? Mom, you led the rebellion? This is too much! I- I don't know what to say."

"We understand. But I believe you are a young woman who is ready to know the truth. That is what you deserve, you have a right to know," my mother repeats the very things I had thought these past two days.

My parents explain to me the rest of their story. What happened in the second Hunger Games, how the rebellion was planned, who the allies were, etc. I have never been more amazed and more proud of just how extraordinary my parents are. They saved lives, fought in a war, battled to stay alive against all odds. This is so incredible to me, that I hug them both with tears in my eyes.

"Can I ask one more question?" I ask.

"Of course," says my mother.

"What was the hardest part of this whole thing for you?"

My mother draws in a sharp breath, and I know that I may have hit an emotional question.

"Losing my sister was the hardest. Watching that bomb explode and burn her. My sister was everything I ever cared about, Rue. She was what I stayed strong for. Knowing that she was okay and that I was protecting her was all I ever asked for. But all of my efforts weren't enough. I watched my sister, Primrose, die. She was not yet fourteen. And with her went my hope, for a very long time, until your father was there for me in my darkest hours. Then we were married, and my new hope is my family. The love I give my children is the least I can do after the life I had at your age. I do it for you. And for Prim." My mother is crying now, and I have never seen her cry. I hold her hand while my father strokes her hair. I know automatically why my middle name is Primrose.

I try to put myself in her place, imagining that Finn and I live in tough times. I am, all he has. It is my job to protect him. Then I watch the bomb falling that is his death sentence, then stand by watching helplessly as he dies. I open my eyes. I squeeze my mother, who has somewhat recovered, tightly because I can't even imagine the pain she went through.

"Now I know the truth," I say quietly.

"Do you wish you didn't?" asks my father.

I consider this. Is it better to know than to not know? To be shielded from the truth for your own protection? "No. If I didn't know my own past, then I could never know who I was as a person. Then I would only be living a lie."

"I once felt that way too, and I agree. Now that you know, there is only one more request," my mother states.

"What's that?" I ask.

"You can't let your brother know about this. He's only ten, and when his time comes we'll let him know ourselves. And don't tell this to anyone else. You can talk about it with Haymitch and Gale of course, they were there and a big part of the revolution, but don't discuss it with anyone else. This is nobody's business but ours," says my father.

"But…can I tell Jonah? I swear he won't tell anyone, he's Gale's son!"

"Yes, Jonah you may tell," my mother smiles.

"There's one last thing," I add, "I'm sorry for everything you were forced to go through. No human being deserves that. The world needs more people like you Mom and Dad, courageous, brave, dedicated, and loving people who care so much. I know that not only Finn and I would be lost without you, but so would the entire nation of Panem."

"The world needs people like you too, Rue. Thank god you're here!" my mother exclaims. I don't get a word out before being squashed in a hug from my parents.

And so the biggest conversation of my life came to a close.

…

"Jonah. Oh, it was so terrible! All of those children dying! The girl I was named after was stabbed with a spear and died in my own mother's arms! The man my brother was named after died protecting my parents' lives. I will never look at them, my past, and most importantly myself the same way. And my middle name? You know, Primrose? That's the name of my aunt who died before she ever reached fourteen in a bomb explosion! How can I cope with this?"

I slowly explain to Jonah everything my parents told me, and briefly descried the video of the seventy fourth Hunger Games over the phone that night. "Oh my god, Rue. Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?"

"No I'll meet you by meadow entrance to the woods in a few."

"Got it," he says, and hangs up.

In a few minutes, just as we planned, I stand with Jonah Hawthorne in the back of the meadow by the woods. I run to him, and find myself trapped in his arms, searching for a friend when I feel so insecure. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore, now that my past is so scrambled up inside my brain. It's a lot to take in for one night. As if this isn't enough, while I am trapped in Jonah's embrace he says, "I love you."

There it is. The words I thought I couldn't understand at fourteen. "I don't know what love is." I always said. But now I know I love my brother, who does not know he was named after a hero. I know I love my parents, who are such brave and remarkable people for everything they've done. And now I know I love Jonah because no one else is there for me the way he is, and no one ever will be. So I say the only thing I know right now, "I love you too."

And when he leans in to kiss me, I don't reject. Because what better way to end a story, then to seal it with a kiss?

_**The End.**_

_By: Jennifer Andreacchi_


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